I let her dream puppet me up the stairs and straight to her front door. I guess tonight there’s no need for the preamble of me lurking in the dark. We’re diving straight into the main event.
Testing the front door, I find it unlocked. It creaks open, and warm light spills out from the entryway.
Strange. It’s always dark.
I’m too busy taking in the shock of being bathed in light to register the sound of paws clicking on the floor before Henry appears at the door. He gives a cheerful bark, like he was expecting me.
I bend down and pat his head, perplexed. Henry hasn’t been in any of these dreams, either.
He turns and heads toward the living room. I follow, not bothering to muffle the clomping sound of my boots as I stride inside. What’s the point? It’s clear I’m not meant to be sneaking around.
So then, whatamI meant to do?
I search that scarred space inside my chest for the usualviolent intent and sick pleasure I’m forced to revel in as her nightmare, and find nothing.
My breath quickens.
The soft sound of singing echoes from the kitchen, accompanied by a carol on the record player.
I move toward the sound, and as I step into the kitchen, I’m arrested by the sight before me.
It’s Ada. Of course, it’s her. But she’s different.Relaxed.
Her body sways along with the music as she stirs something over the stove, the scent of warm mulling spices filling the air. My eyes rove over the curve of her hips and her thick, peachy ass in the tight emerald green dress she’s wearing.
My fingers twitch, wanting to sink into her soft flesh. Not to make her scream or bleed, but to make her sigh as I explore her with reverent strokes. To have her melt at my touch. To show her with my firm grip that I’ll protect her from the darkness. That she’s safe with me.
Desire swells inside me, but I don’t move.
She’s the one who finally turns, her eyebrows shooting up in alarm at the sight of me looming in the threshold. “Oh thank god, Seth!”
I blink at her, brain unable to process her reaction.
She sets the wooden spoon in her hand down, her eyes narrowing. “You’re not going to lunge at me and rip my throat out, are you?”
“What?” I croak. My throat feels dry. “Not unless you make me.”
I reach for her usual guidance, and there’s nothing there.
Her frown deepens as she assesses me. “What do you mean, ‘make you’?” The question is cautious, her body tense like she’s ready to flee from me at the slightest movement on my part.
“I’myournightmare, Ada. Do you think I’ve wanted to spend the past year tormenting you?” My body trembles as I hold myself stock-still toensure she doesn’t run from me. I’m not sure if the dream will change into a more familiar one if she runs, and I can’t risk that. Not when she’s finally talking to me. When she’s finallyseeingme for who I truly am.
I release a shaky exhale. “I’ve only ever wanted to make you happy again, Princess, but you’ve made that pretty fucking difficult.”
Ada’s mouth falls open at my words. “I… I don’t understand how this is real. How the man from my dreams is talking to me.”
“Humans don’t understand a lot of things. That doesn’t make me any less real.”
Her eyes roam over my body, catching on my bare chest for a moment before flicking back up to my mask. “This is crazy.”
She takes a step closer. I stay still as a statue. She takes another step. Then another. Creeping toward me until she’s closed the distance between us. I have to tip my chin down to meet her eyes, a position at once familiar and utterly foreign with this new context.
“You’re real,” she whispers, her hand extending toward my mask.
I want to recoil from the reminder of what I’ve become, but I let her touch it. My eyes squeeze shut, and my throat grows tight as her gentle fingertips brush against the porcelain.
“I made you this?” she asks, a slight waver in her voice. “I made you do all of thoseterriblethings to me?”
